Chapter Fifty-Two: Leaving the Ghost Domain

Chapter Fifty-Two

Liu Yizhen seemed to have a faint sense of Zhao Fusheng's mood. He had spent many years in Beggar's Alley, intimately familiar with its people, sights, and sounds. After the place had been shrouded in the ghostly domain, he had dealt with both the living and the dead, growing accustomed to the matters of life and death. In truth, the Beggar Ghost's method of killing was not difficult to discern, but after each murderous incident, none had the courage to take the first step. Thus, even though daylight was the period of absolute safety, most people felt more secure huddling in their dark, damp hovels, choosing to wait passively for the time of alms, for the ghost's hunt to begin.

Only a short while had passed since the Beggar Ghost’s latest hunt, and the return to the Temple of the Learned. Yet, when the sound of the gong rang out, none questioned it in the least; instinctively, they all poured from their shelters. It showed that though their bodies still lived, their spirits had long since been slain by fear. Perhaps this was Zhao Fusheng’s first time witnessing such a scene, and she was still unaccustomed to it.

“Do you dislike seeing this?” Liu Yizhen asked, striking the gong as he walked.

Zhao Fusheng had no intention of discussing such matters. She simply shook her head. “No, I’m looking for someone.”

With that, she rose on tiptoe, scanning the crowd that surged forward like a mass of the living dead. Soon, her eyes lit up as she spotted something. “There you are.”

Clenching her fist, she strode purposefully in the direction of her gaze. Moving against the current, many stared at her vacantly, but as she drew near, they instinctively stepped aside.

Those who had arrived first at the temple saw Liu Yizhen with his gong, but the great cauldron of porridge—so familiar to them—was nowhere in sight. The crowd, numb and hollow-eyed, suddenly sensed something was amiss. A strange, uneasy murmur began to ripple through them.

“My friends, there will be no alms today,” Liu Yizhen announced, raising the gong high.

The crowd stared at him blankly, as if unable to comprehend what had transpired.

“From this day on,” he continued, hammer in hand, voice calm, “there will be no more alms at the Temple of the Learned. Two days ago, Lord Zhao of the Ghost Suppression Bureau entered here. The curse of Beggar’s Alley has been lifted, the ghostly domain has dispersed, and this place is now safe. You are free to leave.”

The silence was absolute, broken only by the crisp sound of Zhao Fusheng’s footsteps as she walked against the tide. Liu Yizhen watched as she plunged into the crowd, seizing a scrawny, diminutive man by the collar. The man curled up instantly, heels off the ground, arms wrapped about his head in abject terror, offering no resistance.

The ghostly domain had shrouded Beggar’s Alley for a long time. Liu Yizhen, who served alms daily, knew almost every surviving face by heart. A closer look and he recognized the man Zhao Fusheng had caught—it was the very same who, when she first entered the alley, had thrust a bowl of porridge into her arms with force.

Liu Yizhen hadn’t expected Zhao Fusheng to remember this grudge after resolving the ghostly calamity; he pressed his lips together. Yet the Ghost Suppression Bureau's commandant was as powerful as a petty king in these parts; for Zhao Fusheng, killing a beggar was as easy as squashing an ant.

He was about to look away, indifferent, when Zhao Fusheng gave a cold laugh. “Found you at last, you little wretch.”

With two heavy thuds, she swung her fist, striking the beggar squarely in the face, leaving him bloodied and broken-nosed. Once she’d vented her anger, she released her grip, and the beggar collapsed to the ground, curling up and shivering uncontrollably.

Shaking her hand, Zhao Fusheng snorted. “Let’s see if you dare harm anyone again.”

Her outburst finally shattered the crowd’s torpor. The beggar, face contorted in pain, seemed to regain his senses. He gasped for breath, trembling as he struggled to his feet, bewildered and lost.

Zhao Fusheng, visibly relieved after this catharsis, shed the oppressive gloom that had weighed on her since entering Beggar’s Alley. Planting a hand on her hip, she shouted, “The Ghost Suppression Bureau has concluded its investigation! The ghostly domain has been banished! All of you, leave at once!”

“Go, quickly!” she commanded, giving the man on the ground a swift kick as she spoke.

At her words, the survivors seemed to awaken from a long nightmare.

“What…?”

“The ghostly domain is gone?”

“Someone from the Bureau was here?”

A few asked tentatively, only to clasp their hands tightly over their mouths, as if terrified by their own voices.

The silence lingered a moment longer.

Liu Yizhen, who had witnessed everything, was momentarily stunned. He had expected Zhao Fusheng to exact fatal vengeance, not merely a beating. She was clever, and must have understood the malice behind the beggar’s actions.

Zhao Fusheng was cunning by nature and not one to suffer losses; that she chose instead this course of action utterly surprised Liu Yizhen. But he was lost in thought only for an instant. As the crowd stirred, he followed up with an explanation:

“Everyone, the ghostly calamity is over. From now on, there will be no more alms from the temple.” He struck the gong twice more.

The deathly hush began to lift, and those who survived slowly realized what had happened. Some were overjoyed, others in disbelief. Though a few remained numb, most now understood they had survived the nightmare.

“It’s over?”

“The ghost has been driven away?”

“The domain is gone?”

“Have we really survived—?”

Questions poured forth.

Liu Yizhen recalled the register of lives and hesitated, but still answered, “This ghostly calamity is over. What the future brings, I cannot say.”

To the crowd, his words were like a pardon for the condemned. Joy rippled through them.

Only now did many dare look about. The ghostly mist was dissipating; dawn’s light crept in—a sure sign the domain had broken.

“It’s morning!”

“The ghost is gone—we’re safe!”

“We can leave!”

“I’ll never come back to Beggar’s Alley—”

The survivors, elated, began to scatter, at first stiff from long huddling, but soon moving faster and faster, desperate to escape, not daring to linger a moment.

The man who had collapsed at Zhao Fusheng’s feet realized what was happening. He scrambled up and slipped quickly into the crowd, as if terrified she might catch him again.

Zhao Fusheng watched him slither away like an eel until he was lost among the masses, then turned and glanced at Liu Yizhen, finally exhaling in relief. “Let’s go home.”

She didn’t linger, heading back the way she came.

As the gloom broke, a large group of people was gathered just beyond Beggar’s Alley. At the front were the Fan brothers, accompanied by the county magistrate and his aide, whom Zhao Fusheng had met before. Liu Wu, who once drove her carriage, stood with the constables, and a handful of curious onlookers clustered nearby.

“Brother—” Fan Wujie peered anxiously toward the alley. Now that the ghostly domain was gone and the mist was dispersing, the stench of corpses, blood, and filth trapped within was the first to escape, making all wrinkle their noses in disgust.

“How much longer must we wait?” Fan Wujie’s face was drawn and wan. “The domain has lifted…”

“A little longer, there’s no sign yet,” Fan Bisi replied calmly.

The old magistrate and his aide exchanged glances but dared not speak.

“Do you think Fusheng is still alive?” Fan Wujie ventured.

No one dared answer.

“I don’t know.” After a long silence, Fan Bisi shook his head. “Ghostly calamities in Beggar’s Alley are not easily resolved.”

A sly voice sounded through the crowd, and Zhang Chuanshi poked his head out from behind the brothers. “I think Zhao Fusheng suffered terribly from the ghost, lost her wits, and as a novice ghost handler, how could she easily expel so fierce a spirit?” He craned his neck, his small, beady eyes fixed on the alley, his brow creased with worry.

“Perhaps her death caused the ghost within her to awaken, balancing the forces in the alley and accidentally breaking the domain,” he speculated, his eyes darting slyly. Though half his face was hidden behind Fan Bisi’s shoulder, Fan Wujie caught the schadenfreude in his tone.

He glanced at his older brother, who remained silent, but Fan Wujie understood his concerns. They both regarded the ghost-handling, undying Zhao Fusheng with a measure of dread.

The day they parted ways in town, the brothers had hurried to bury the Zhao couple’s bodies in the neighboring district, then rushed back to Wanan County by noon the next day—only to find no trace of Zhao Fusheng.

Later, Zhang Chuanshi from the coffin shop appeared, and it was only from him that they learned Zhao Fusheng had burned the residence of Paper Zhang, borrowed men from the magistrate, and been delivered here. Guided by the old woman at the crossroads, they confirmed she had entered Beggar’s Alley. For the next three days, the ghostly domain remained, and Zhao Fusheng’s fate was unknown.

For two days, all the notable figures of Wanan County had waited here. Zhao Fusheng’s survival—or lack thereof—would dictate their own decisions. If even the last ghost-handling commandant perished, the Ghost Suppression Bureau would be finished, and those with means would certainly leave. The magistrate and his aide likely planned the same, but the Bureau’s people, bound by the register of souls, could not depart. Zhang Chuanshi, forced into the Bureau and terrified after Zhao Fusheng had offended Paper Zhang, now harbored a grudge and wished her dead from the calamity.

“Old Zhang, don’t talk nonsense,” Fan Wujie snapped, then turned to his brother. “Brother—”

“I don’t think Fusheng is dead,” Fan Bisi replied.

At his words, everyone pricked up their ears—even the magistrate took a half-step forward, eager to hear more.

“She’s alive?” Fan Wujie blurted, raising his voice.

Fan Bisi considered before answering, “Ever since she became a ghost handler, Fusheng’s temperament has changed. I just have a feeling—” For a moment, he could not find the words to describe the sense he got from being around the resurrected Zhao Fusheng.

Yet he felt she was shrewd and cautious, but also bold—at times even reckless.

Zhang Chuanshi claimed she had lost her mind burning Paper Zhang’s house, but Fan Bisi thought such an act was just in her character. She never suffered losses, avenged her grievances at once, unwilling to endure.

“For three days, the domain was quiet. I think she was probing the ghost’s rules, and in short, I don’t believe she’ll die here,” he concluded.

Zhang Chuanshi started at this, then his slanted brows trembled. “Even if she survived, it’s no use. You all know what happens to those who handle the Bureau’s ghosts. If she uses the ghost’s power, she’ll be consumed by it.”

He added, “Even if she’s not consumed at once, she may lose her mind and go insane.”

His words struck at the brothers’ deepest fears. Fan Wujie recalled the state of Zhao Qiming after his ghost went berserk, and his face darkened.

“I…” Fan Wujie was about to speak when the sound of hurried footsteps echoed from afar—many people fleeing at once.

“Shh—” Fan Bisi’s eyes lit up. “Someone’s coming.”

They all fell silent, watching as, through the thinning fog, ragged survivors began to pour from Beggar’s Alley. At first there were few, then more and more followed. The magistrate hastily ordered his men to question them, but before the constables could move, Fan Bisi cried out, “There she is!”

Everyone looked where he pointed. There, following behind the fleeing throng, Zhao Fusheng emerged from the alley, walking at an unhurried pace.

“Fusheng—”

“Fusheng!”

The Fan brothers were first shocked, then incredulous. After days in Beggar’s Alley, she was streaked with blood, but not dispirited, nor was there any madness in her eyes. Her expression was calm, with even a trace of a smile at her lips.

It was as if she had not gone to resolve a ghostly calamity, but simply attended a temple fair.

The fleeing survivors glanced fearfully over their shoulders, as if terrified of pursuit by ghosts. She alone was composed, utterly at ease.

What had truly happened in those days within Beggar’s Alley? Now that Zhao Fusheng had survived, was it her doing that the calamity ended? Had she used the ghost’s power—or cleverly manipulated the rules to lure the ghost away?

A flood of questions surged in everyone’s mind.

Suppressing his own fear, Fan Bisi strode forward to greet her. “Fusheng.”

Fan Wujie followed close behind.

The schadenfreude on Zhang Chuanshi’s face vanished the instant he saw Zhao Fusheng. He stared, wide-eyed, his expression a mix of disbelief and despair. In the next moment, his demeanor changed completely—his previous malice gone—and he hurried after the brothers, ingratiatingly calling out, “Lord Zhao! Lord Zhao, your fortune is a blessing to all of Wanan County!”

The magistrate and others exchanged looks, overcome by astonishment and joy.

Those who had waited now surged forward, gathering around Zhao Fusheng like stars encircling the moon.

(End of Chapter)